Changes
by syrameu
Summary: Forces conspire to teach House a lesson about life and love. Plus automatic litterboxes!
1. Chapter 1

It was a Tuesday, but it was just another damn day to Gregory House. His alarm went off too early, as usual. His leg hurt, as usual. He hadn't gotten enough sleep, as usual. He sat up gingerly, swinging his left leg down and then his right, the no-good one, which he left tapping in an unsatisfied manner on the floor. He reached up and scratched his head, and was just reaching for his cane when he heard it: the silence.

"Steve?" he called.

Steve McQueen, his rat, had lived with him maybe six months. There were some bad memories about the time when he brought Steve home, but House had grown fond of the thing despite himself. He lived in a cage with a big rat wheel out in the living room. Steve was usually awakened by the sound of House's alarm and would stir to action, and House could almost always hear the sound of him on his wheel, or of his sharp little rat teeth chewing on a toy or a piece of cardboard or of the rattle the little water bottle made against the wire cage. This morning, there was nothing.

"Damn rat," muttered House as he grabbed his cane from where he had hooked it over the footboard of the bed the night before. He angled and stood up, wincing against the first sharp pain of the day. Soon enough there would be Vicodin, and the pain would be pushed back again. But first, the rat.

House limped slowly out into the living room, yawning. At least the automatic coffee maker was already going. Best piece of machinery invented by man, the auto-timer coffee maker. As long as you remembered to set it. He glanced over at Steve's cage. Steve lay on the bottom, still.

"Shit," House said as he made his way over to the cage. "Steve? Stevie? Steve-o?" The rat didn't stir. House poked a finger in at Steve, and he didn't jump up to play. Steve wasn't ever going to jump up to play again. House's expression moved rapidly from disbelief to anger, taking only the slightest pause at sadness. If you blinked, you would have missed it.

"Great," he said, as he turned back to the kitchen nook. Once there he found what he was looking for – a goodsized plastic container. He moved slowly back to Steve's cage and popped Steve's already-cooled body into the Gladware, shutting it with a snap and more barely audible muttering. He put the container on the counter and said to it, as he turned to his coffee pot, "We're going to find out what did you in, Steve."

House walked into the hospital entrance and headed to the elevator with a determined gait and practiced scowl. His mind was already cycling through possible causes of death, and he growled at the one nurse who tried to intercept him with a chart. "Patient died last night. Emergency autopsy," he glanced around, then continued in an exaggerated stage whisper, "looks like the hospital might be negligent."

He smiled smugly as the nurse scurried away, clearly eager to share the news. Glancing at his watch, he calculated it would be no more than 3 hours before Cuddy stormed into his office demanding an explanation. He hoped she was wearing one of her low-cut blouses today. Anger did good things for Cuddy, especially since it tended to result in a spectacular display of heaving breasts. He'd have to let Wilson know so he could be there for the show, too.

Walking into his office, House saw his ducklings engaged in animated discussion, presumably over a chart Foreman had open on the table. He tossed his briefcase onto his chair, and walked into the conference room, still carrying Steve's makeshift coffin. "I'm already bored," House announced, cutting off Cameron.

"Is that a dead rat?" Foreman asked incredulously.

Chase shook his head as he choked back a laugh, "Please don't say that has anything to do with your hooker from last night."

"This is a good case," Cameron insisted, glaring at Chase before gesturing to the whiteboard. "You have to at least hear us out."

"What have I told you about using the whiteboard? All those loopy Gs better be gone before I get back."

"Where are you going?" Cameron demanded.

House ignored her, deciding to take the long way to Wilson's office.

"You know a lot about rats," House said without preamble, handing the Steve's container to Wilson.

"What!" Wilson sputtered, dropping the plastic container as if it was on fire. "You brought your dead rat into a hospital?"

House rolled his eyes, tapping his cane impatiently. "Yeah, can we skip the part where you blame everything from the bubonic plague to global warning on rats? I know that bit already. You knew that rats only sweat through their tails. What else do you know?"

"You realize you've gone completely insane," Wilson said with a sigh, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the small corpse.

House cocked his head toward the door. "Bring Steve & come help me with the autopsy."

"I have patients," Wilson protested, his voice starting to rise. "I can't help you autopsy your pet."

"I'll make it worth your while," House said, "I can guarantee some primo Cuddy breast action later."

"I don't even want to know what you did," Wilson sighed, standing, "and I'm not carrying the dead rat."

Lisa Cuddy looked up as she heard some sort of hubbub in her disused front office. The Rutgers kid just hadn't worked out. Couldn't file for a damn, answered the phone too fast, just no good. Overeducated, really, and only helpful for sudoku hints. She saw two agitated nurses percolating their way over from the clinic. She stood as they reached her door and she beckoned them in, brushing down her fabulous peach-colored suit with attractive cream blouse, cut low enough to keep things interesting. Maybe she should look for another overeducated young man to answer her phones just a bit slower.

"Let me guess. House," she said before either nurse could get started. The nurses exchanged wry smiles.

"Well, what's he done now?" Cuddy asked. "Shirked clinic duty again? Authorized fifteen more expensive tests on that one comatose guy he seems weirdly obsessed with? Terrorized the obstetrics lounge or the maternity ward again?"

"Actually," piped up the nurse who had intercepted House carrying Steve's corpse that morning, "he said something about a patient death, an autopsy, and the hospital being at fault!"

"But he was wearing that adorable leather jacket again," chimed in the second nurse, fanning herself with a patient folder she was clasping. The nurses giggled like schoolgirls.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "All right, thank you for the report. I don't know what he's talking about, I don't even think he has an active case right now." She waved the nurses out of her office and smiled. He was wearing the leather jacket, eh? Wonder if he was still wearing it down in the morgue? That in and of itself might be worth a surprise visit.

"Fine," snapped House, "if you don't want to carry the dead rat you're going to have to get the other supplies."

Wilson took a step away from his desk where the Gladware container holding the former Steve McQueen still lay. "What do you mean, supplies? They got special rat-sized scalpels hidden somewhere? Find them yourself!"

House raised his eyebrows in an exasperated manner, and said, "You know, _supplies_. Snacks. Funyuns, I think they'll do. Steve always liked Funyuns."

"I think you just pinpointed cause of death," Wilson noted dryly, reaching to pull out his wallet to see how much he had in the way of Funyun funds.

"Oh, you." House teased. "Hello? This is a RAT. You know, they live in sewers and eat candy wrappers as a gourmet feast? Have been known to gnaw corpse eyeballs? Dine upon rotted flesh? Make a meal of…'

"Okay, okay!" yelled Wilson, not giving House a chance to finish. "You didn't poison your rat with snack food. But you're going to poison us. Hell, I haven't had breakfast yet. Meet you down in the morgue."

Grinning, House snatched the container with Steve's mortal remains and started to make his way slowly out to the elevators.

"Seriously," said Foreman, stretching in his chair, "dude had a dead rat with him."

"Probably something he found on the sidewalk on the way in," noted Chase. "Or something he killed with his cane."

"Guys," Cameron pleaded, "Can we get back to this patient's chart? And I'm sure it wasn't really a dead rat. Was it?"

"It _so _was," said Foreman, pulling himself up to the table again. "But you're right. Down to business."

"Sure you don't want to wait for House to get back from harassing Wilson?" asked Chase, pen hovering over the _Times _crossword.

"Hell no," said Foreman. "He doesn't want to work, he's got tenure, whatever. But that doesn't mean we can't do this one ourselves. Looks like we've got a couple of options here, let's look at this MRI the referring physician sent."

Chase and Cameron listened as Foreman set out the case. Cameron felt like something was wrong, that they were going behind House's back somehow, but Foreman had a point. They were doctors in their own right. Maybe if she could come up with a diagnosis on this one and stick to her guns, House would finally give her some credit.

"Look, are these bone tumors?" House asked, prodding at Steve's leg.

"Could be," Wilson shrugged.

"You're supposed to be my best friend," House snapped irritably, "you could at least pretend to care that my dearly beloved pet, my one constant and loyal companion is dead."

"I thought that was me."

"It used to be you. But Steve had a cuter nose, and he could even twitch it."

"Just how much Vicodin have you had today? You realize you're not even making sense."

"Beloved pet? Dead? Distraught? Are you following any of this?"

"Well, if it's bone tumors, the likely cause is pesticide poisoning," Wilson said mildly, opening the second bag of Funyuns.

"Nothing indicated that in the bloodwork I did after finding him in the attic."

"Might not have been recent exposure." Wilson said as his pager went off. "I've got real work. You might want to think about doing some of yours before Cuddy finds you down here."

"Just leave the Funyuns, would you? I can't believe you ate all the HoHos."

"I'm going home," House announced as he walked into the conference room.

Cameron stared in disbelief at the plastic container. "Oh my god, that was a dead rat. What did you do to it?"

"Where's Foreman?" House asked suspiciously.

"He's, er, with the patient," Chase said uncomfortably.

"The patient?"

"It's a good case, she needs our help," Cameron said, forcing her focus away from the dissected rat.

"Is this a mutiny?" House asked incredulously.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Chase muttered under his breath.

"Then you should have stopped it," House snapped. "And there are still loopy Gs on my whiteboard. Look. I'm going to be going home early. I've got a funeral I need to organize and attend & a house to search. I dropped off some specimens at the lab. Page me as soon as they send the results. And get that patient assigned to another attending."

Chase stared in disbelief as House stalked into his office, slung his briefcase over his shoulder & limped out at a fast clip.

"A funeral?" Cameron asked weakly. "For the rat?"

"He's finally gone completely insane," Chase marveled, torn between horror and amusement.

Cuddy reached the morgue only to find no trace of House except crumpled Funyuns bags and HoHo wrappers in the biohazard bin. She sighed. He was cute, but boy was he a pain in the ass. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty to do, Dean of Medicine wasn't exactly code for "babysitter," and it was getting so ridiculous…

She fumed as she caught the elevator back up and strode down the hall to House's office. In the outer office she ran into Cameron, looking worried, and Chase, looking nonchalant. House had closed the vertical blinds separating his office from the outer one.

"Dr. Cuddy," Cameron began as she entered.

"What is it, Dr. Cameron? I'm here to see Dr. House," Cuddy said, barely slowing down on her way to the door.

"It's just that he…" Cameron stuttered.

Cuddy turned and stopped. "What did he do now? He already was talking about some wrongful death suit this morning, and…"

She was cut off by a snort from Chase. Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. He really did have to get a personal shopper one of these days, amazing he lived to this age without learning to dress himself. "Dr. Chase?"

"I think the two incidents are related," Chase said, nodding toward a Gladware container on the table near the whiteboard. Cuddy strolled over and recoiled as she saw the freshly-necropsied rat. After a moment, she composed herself and grabbed the container. With a steely glint in her eye she strode into House's office.

Wilson strode down the hallway on the way to his consult. He was still shaking his head in disbelief at Greg's antics this morning. Wilson had thought it strange at first when Greg kept that rat for "tests" at first and then as a pet. But when he saw that Steve kept Greg a bit more relaxed at home, that the rat afforded him someone to "talk" to at odd hours, Wilson thought maybe a pet was a good thing. House wasn't a cat or a dog type of person. The rat had actually been a stroke of genius. But to be so upset!

Deep in his thoughts, he didn't see Foreman striding down the hall in the other direction. Wilson walked right into him.

"Hey! Oh, Dr. Wilson," said Foreman, readjusting his lab coat.

"Dr. Foreman," Wilson nodded, waking up out of his distracted thoughts.

"Have you seen House yet this morning?" Foreman asked, thinking it was a good bet Wilson had.

"Yes, I had a consultation with him this morning," Wilson noted.

_Oh, so now they're calling it a consultation, eh?_, thought Foreman to himself as he said, "Did he have a dead rat with him?"

"What? Oh, yeah, that. It was his pet. It died last night and House wanted to see what was wrong with it."

"His _pet_? House had a pet rat?" Foreman was incredulous.

"Yeah, he picked it up about six months ago. Said it had some weird head-tilting problem, he ran some tests, wound up keeping the thing. Now he thinks he must have missed something in the tests, or the lab messed them up, because the rat's dead."

"Of…?"

"What looks like cancer. Though, House is running more tests to be sure."

"He's running tests on a grown rat that died of cancer? Hasn't he heard? Rats get cancer pretty much like clockwork once they're about three years old."

Wilson nodded and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I know, but tell that to House in his mood. Look, he'll get it out of his system quickly enough. Sorry, I've got a consult."

"Sure, yeah, thanks," Foreman muttered as he watched Wilson continue down the hallway. He was stuck on something Wilson had said. The thing about head tilt. Hadn't House consulted with him on a patient with head tilt a few months back? Was it really a rat all that time?

Foreman shook his head. He really shouldn't be surprised by this stuff anymore. He moved on towards his patient's room.

"Dr. House!" Cuddy snapped as she walked into his office. She halted almost immediately. All the blinds were drawn and the lights were out. Mournful-sounding classical music was emanating from the iPod set in its speakers on the desk. House was laying on the floor with his feet propped up on the desk chair, eyes closed, gently conducting the music with one hand. Upon her entrance he opened his eyes and stared at her.

"What are you doing with that?" he asked angrily, noticing the Gladware container in her hands. He propped himself on one elbow.

"With your dead pet rat that you brought into this office and used valuable hospital resources on? What am I doing with that?" Cuddy had her wits about her again and strode over to House's desk while brandishing the container with Steve's mortal remains. She turned the iPod off and the room fell into silence.

"Yes!" House grabbed his right leg and eased it down from the chair. He straightened himself and stood, slowly, wincing. "What are you doing with that when it _clearly _doesn't concern you?"

"Everything about this hospital concerns me, Dr. House," Cuddy said evenly. He was wearing the blue shirt again. No sign of the leather jacket. "Now I'm sorry for the loss of your pet, but I cannot begin to list how inappropriate this is."

"The Gladware's all I had handy," House muttered as he rubbed his temple and reached for the Vicodin bottle in his pocket. He tapped two out onto his palm and dry-swallowed.

"It's not the CONTAINER that's inappropriate!" Cuddy said in agitation. House glanced appreciatively toward her neckline. _Wilson's missing all this_, he thought ruefully. "It's the use of the morgue! It's bringing a possible disease vector into a hospital! It's the…"

Before she could finish, House raised his voice. "No one in the _morgue _cares that I used it for five minutes, why should you? I have kept the rat in a secure container, and can assure you he _has _no disease, or at least the tests six months didn't indicate anything, and he hasn't been out of his cage since. IF the tests are proven wrong, then THIS hospital will have to answer for any infection."

Cuddy's eyes grew wide. "TESTS? You used this hospital's lab to test your PET RAT?"

Cuddy started ticking off another list of inappropriate things House had done lately, her latest indignation fueling the fire. House closed his eyes. Despite the fine view afforded him by Cuddy's attire, he had a headache that would simply not go away.

"…have misappropriated time, possibly our most precious resource, and have possibly exposed our testing equipment to contamination…"

"Dr. Cuddy." Something in House's tone made her stop short.

"Dr. House?" she asked.

"Every word out of your mouth is like an axe to my skull this morning. I have a headache that won't quit. Can we resume your shrill ranting at some more convenient time?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes in concern. "Headache? How much Vicodin have you had today?"

"Why is everyone so concerned with my dosage this morning? I. Have. A. Headache." House said with finality.

Cuddy shook her head, but slipped out of House's office anyway. She couldn't talk to him when he was like this. He was being odd, even for House.

As she entered the outer office, Foreman walked in. Chase looked up and said, "Oh, by the way, House wants you to hand that patient off and work on his case."

"What case?" asked Foreman.

Chase nodded at Cuddy, who looked down and noticed she was still holding the Gladware containing what was left of Steve.

"He wants us to drop this for the RAT?" said Foreman.

Cuddy set the container down gently on the table and pushed her sleeves up. She went back to the door to House's office and pushed it open. His blinds were open again but House was nowhere to be seen.

Pissed that he had to leave Steve behind, House gunned the bike, neatly cutting off a minivan. The honk vindicated his mood and reaffirmed his hatred of humanity in general and soccer moms in particular. Cuddy would kill him, but missing his clinic hours made an imminent death worthwhile.

As he pulled into the alley behind his house, he cursed to see a moving van blocking the entrance to his small backyard & driveway. He stopped short & honked irritably. Just as he was about to blare it again, a woman came out of the house next door & hurried toward him.

"Oh, are we blocking you in? I wasn't sure the truck was even going to make it back here, it's rather tight."

Despite her frazzled appearance, House couldn't help but notice her almost shocking beauty. Dark, lustrous hair, shot with honey, caramel and red highlights, danced around her shoulders and gently framed her face. Her skin was pale and almost ethereal in its rosy-hued perfection. Of medium height, she was slender with amply curvaceous hips and breasts. Her most striking feature, though, were her dark violet eyes.

Shaking his head against his brief reverie, he forced a scowl. "No, of course you're not. Honking at parked moving vans is just a hobby of mine."

Raising an eyebrow, she said drily, "You do dripping sarcasm awfully well. I don't suppose you offer lessons."

House gave her a long, even stare, his blue eyes burning icily. "I want this van moved now," he finally said, biting each word out with venemous enunciation.

"But menace is obviously your real skill," she said in a tone of exaggerated awe. "I'll go grab one of the movers."

He nodded and crossed his arm, enjoying the sight of her lush, taut ass filling out a pair of worn jeans. A minute later she was back with an enormous man that House felt was surely proof of the missing link. Shooting House an annoyed glance, he gestured to the ramp leading to the truck & the boxes and furniture sitting on the pavement. "Cut us a break & park on the street. We'll be out of here in a few hours."

"Do you know how hard it is to find parking on this street?" House barked, unsnapping his cane to brandish it threateningly above his head. "And I'm a cripple. Parking blocks away doesn't work for me." Glaring at his new neighbor who seemed only amused by him, he adopted a hurt tone. "Any my pet rat died this morning."

Unable to surpress laughter any longer she covered her mouth and tried to disguise it as a cough. "Go ahead, just move the van, Larry," she said apologetically. "We'll be out of your way in a minute."

House nodded, smirking smugly at Larry.

"I'm sorry we got off to a wrong start," she offered apologetically and held out her hand. "I'm your new neighbor, Belle."

Ignoring her hand, House tried on his best withering stare. "I'm not exactly in the mood for neighborly chit chat. I'm sure you have things to unpack."

"I do," she acknowledged, trying to suppress another grin. The man was angry and clearly an ass, but for some reason she couldn't help but be amused by him. "I'll go do that. Sorry to hear about your rat."

"But not sorry I'm a cripple?" He asked challengingly, snapping his cane back into place.

"No, I think you've got that one under control by yourself," she said drily, then turned and walked back to her house. House glared at her retreating back, slightly impressed with her despite himself. "I'm probably just blinded by that ass," he muttered, excusing himself. Glaring as Larry finished moving the last box into the yard and began raising the ramp, he started up the engine and revved it impatiently.

Cameron ducked out of the office after Cuddy stormed off to look for House. Foreman and Chase were already sniping at one another about dropping Foreman's case for the case of the rat, and she knew she wasn't going to be heard even if she could get a word in edgewise.

The situation clearly called for pastries.

She made her way down to the cafeteria and picked out a cinnamon bear claw. Noting the unseasonably beautiful weather outside, she decided to sit out on a bench and eat it. She tossed her hair and squelched a twinge of guilt at not getting back to the office. _I've got my pager on if they need me, _she thought defiantly, _besides, that rat's tests won't be back for hours._

She sat on a bench near a bike rack, on a small patch of grass. She closed her eyes and leaned back, fully enjoying the bear claw experience.

Soon her reverie was interrupted by a strange noise. She heard a bike being shackled to the rack and opened her eyes. A small boy, no more than ten, was chaining his dilapidated bike, paying close attention to the basket on the back which held a small cardboard box. He looked over and saw her looking, and smiled. Grabbing the box, he rushed over.

_Oh no, _thought Cameron, _now I'm going to be stuck buying whatever the Cub Scout equivalent of Girl Scout cookies is._

"Pardon me, ma'am," said the earnest young lad, dirty blond hair poking out from behind his slightly outsized ears, "but would you be interested in adopting a kitten?"

A kitten! That explained the strange noise! Leaning over the box, which was mewling pitifully, Cameron saw two small kittens, a lively gray tabby and a shy calico. The tabby was trying to eat the calico's ear. Cameron's heart melted just a little bit.

"Oh, aren't they adorable," said Cameron, reaching in to touch the soft fur. The tabby stopped trying to snack on his sister and turned to bat at Cameron's finger.

"It would be great if you could take them both!" the boy enthused. "Missy had four kittens but my uncle took the oldest two, they were matching orange stripey. My mom says it's better if they can stay with a brother or sister."

"Don't you want to keep any of them yourself?" Cameron asked the boy, who seemed enthralled with the kittens.

"Sure, ma'am, but we already have Missy and Spigot at home, plus my little sister really really really really wants a dog, so we can't really have three cats right now." He looked crestfallen. "Or four, 'specially, since it would be nice to keep them together."

"Well, now, that really is probably too many pets!" Cameron agreed. She laughed as she watched the shy calico finally make a move and take a swipe at her brother's tail. The boy looked, a hopeful light shining in his bright green eyes.

"You'll take them, won't you ma'am?" he pleaded. "I can tell you like them, and I've been trying to find someone nice to take them, all day, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do if I can't find someone soon!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Cameron pulled back from watching the kitten's antics. "I live in a building where we're not allowed to have pets. They're very cute and sweet and I'm sure they would make great pets, but I really can't take them." The boy looked crushed at her words. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, Cameron had an idea.

Dr. James Wilson rubbed his temples as he left the consult. The pediatric cases were the hardest. Oncology was a tough enough field when you were dealing with adults with a lifetime of experience behind them. Wilson knew that his staff called him in on these consults because of his skill in dealing with the bereaved. It's true, he could present even the worst news in a way that was almost pleasing, and that people seemed eager to trust and confide in him. But it was exhausting, telling people day in and day out that they were going to die.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly lunchtime. Out of habit, he started towards House's office. When he got there he found it empty. Strange. He started down to the cafeteria, smiling a little with the promise of having his lunch all to himself that day. Still, eating alone was boring, and it was such a beautiful day. As he passed Cuddy's office he thought he'd pop his head in to see if she wanted to grab a bite. He paused outside her door as he could see her talking on the phone and gesticulating angrily. On her desk, he noticed the Gladware container with House's dead rat.

_I don't even want to know how she got that, _he thought, backing away. He knew better than to interrupt Cuddy when she was on a tear.

Wilson made his way to the cafeteria, resigned to eating alone. On a whim, he got his meal to go instead of on a tray, and took it out into the beautiful day, where it was far too warm and pleasant to actually be January in New Jersey. He was walking toward a bench near a favorite, if now leafless, tree, when he heard someone call his name.

"Dr. Wilson! Dr. Wilson, wait!" It was Cameron, holding a little cardboard box. What was she up to? He paused while she caught up to him.

"What's in the box, Dr. Cameron?" Wilson asked.

"Oh, well, it's…" she trailed off. Was it his imagination, or did the box move?

"Yes?"

"Well." She took a deep breath, and forged ahead. "You know how House's pet rat died?"

Wilson stared at her. There was definitely a scratching noise coming from the box. "Yes," he said slowly, "I procured the Funyuns for the necropsy, actually. What's in the _box_, Dr. Cameron?"

Cameron cradled the box with one arm and ran the fingers on her other hand through her hair. "I was thinking," she said, "that it must be tough on him, living alone, to lose his only companion like that. Rats are good pets but it's hard, because they have such short life spans. If he got another rat…"

"'Another rat'?"

"If he got another rat, it would just die in another few years. So maybe…" A new sound came from the box.

"Dr. Cameron, that box meowed."

"What? Oh, this? Yes, it, um," more mewling and scuffling came from the box. Sighing, she opened it and held it out to Wilson.

He glanced in at the young animals and smiled. Clearly littermates, the kittens looked up at him and mewed simultaneously, like they had rehearsed it. Then Wilson snapped his head up at Cameron, the spell of the kittens temporarily broken.

"Instead of a rat you want to give him TWO KITTENS?" Wilson exclaimed, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Well my building doesn't take pets, and he's lonely, and…"

"What about House says 'kitten' to you?" Wilson asked. "What, out of everything you have ever seen or heard House do, led you to the conclusion that House needed not only A kitten, but TWO kittens? Is it his warm heart? His sensitive nature? Have you had recent head trauma?"

Cameron smiled sheepishly at Wilson. "The little boy was heartbroken over them," she began.

Wilson sighed. He took another tack. "Well, House isn't even here, so far as I know. What are you going to do with them for the rest of the day? You can't keep them in the hospital."

Something in Cameron's expression changed. She looked at him hopefully, expectantly.

"Oh no," Wilson said. "You don't…"

Five minutes later Wilson was walking toward his car with his lunch in one hand and a box of kittens in the other.


	2. Chapter 2

"Kittens," Wilson shouted in the quiet of his luxury car. "Insane, delusional dogooder. Kittens are going to fix House. Kittens!" Banging his hand on the steering wheel for emphasis, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and was irrationally ashamed of his flushed skin and solitary rant.

"Insanity i is /i contagious," he muttered as he turned neatly into the strip mall that housed the nearest pet supply store.

"And that's the grand tour, Dr. Raffenbraun," the vet tech cheerfully announced.

"You don't have too many animals here, I'm surprised," Belle mused, crouching down to play with the small puppy who was earnestly trying to wriggle out of the kennel to get to her.

"We just had a great adoption drive last week and placed over fifty percent of our animals."

"Well, what's this little guy's story?" she asked, smiling as she managed to scratch the puppy's ears, sending him into paroxysms of joy.

"Just came in a few days ago - horrible abuse case. All of his siblings and his mother died within hours of getting here. He's a lucky fellow," the tech said, shaking her head at the memory.

Belle's generous mouth softened in sorrow. "That's awful. He's all alone," she whispered.

"You'll want to get used to heartbreak here," she said with resigned pragmatism, starting to walk away.

"Not with this one," Belle said determinedly, standing abruptly. "What do I need to do to adopt him?"

"Oh, Dr. Raffenbraun, I know this is your first time heading up a Humane Society, but you'll end up arrested as a hoarder if you bring home every stray you fall in love with here."

"I promise I won't," Belle chuckled. "Anyway, he's actually going to be a gift for a... friend. Do we have any carriers around here?"

"New kitten?" the check-out clerk smiled flirtatiously.

"Two actually," Wilson said with a smile. "Have I forgotten anything?"

The clerk took a long look at the generous assortment of supplies that included kitten food, litter, a litter box, carriers, collars, bells, scratch tree, catnip and just about every toy they had in the cat section. "I think you might be okay," she said with a laugh.

"I guess, well, I erred on the side of caution," Wilson said with a sheepish grin.

"Yep, the only thing you don't have is a how-to book," she smiled, picking up a copy of i Cats for Dummies /i from the display rack.

Wilson took it from her and looked at it consideringly. Placing it back down deliberately, he ducked his head and smiled. "I've always learned better from personal instruction rather than books."

Grinning widely, she nodded. "I'm off in 15 minutes."

"I'll be waiting in the parking lot," Wilson said, handing her his credit card. "Do you like Italian?"

"Insanity is contagious," Cuddy muttered to herself she approached House's place, holding a plastic container in one hand and lab results in another. "I should be committed." Approaching the door, she could faintly hear a piano which broke off abruptly as she knocked. After a few minutes went by, she tapped her foot impatiently & knocked again. "I know you're in there, House. Open up." She heard a shouted "go away" through the door and sighed. "I've got your lab results," she yelled in a sing-song voice. "And the power to add clinic hours to your schedule."

"Miserable bitch," House snarled, opening the door. He grabbed the papers from her & tried to slam the door in her face. Quickly, she blocked it with the makeshift coffin, and took advantage of his surprise to force her way inside.

"Don't you want to bury your beloved pet in the back yard or something?" she asked with an acid tone.

"He did mean something to me, you know," House said in a quiet voice grabbing the container from her.

Cuddy felt a pang of guilt, but still narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I'm sorry you lost your pet, House, but that doesn't even begin to excuse your gross misuse of lab resources. I tried to stop the tests, but was too late. The costs will be coming out of your pay."

"You're turning into a mean, bitter woman you know," House grouched. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Cuddy arched an eyebrow. "None of your business and I certainly didn't have to pay for it."

"I imagine not," House drawled, deliberately looking her up and down, then settling his gaze on her breasts. "I bet you could even charge for it."

"You wouldn't be able to afford me," Cuddy snorted, then crossed the room to the coffee table, gesturing at the whiskey. "You having a wake?" Spying his glass on top of the piano she grabbed it & poured a generous finger before taking a long drink.

"That's my glass," House whined.

"You shouldn't drink alone," she shrugged and sat down. "And I figured you wouldn't get me a glass, but you'll get yourself another one."

Glaring, House grabbed the bottle & swigged from it.

"Classy."

House belched, then grinned proudly as Cuddy rolled her eyes. She was amazed anew at just how the bitter, angry man could so closely resemble a young boy in unguarded moments. That, combined with his brilliant mind, quick wit, stunning blue eyes, and gravelly voice formed a dangerous, nearly irresistable package. Cuddy was careful to keep her walls up around him, knowing how easily she could fall for him.

"So did you look at this?" House waved the lab results and sat down and began looking through them.

"No, House, I can't say I was particularly concerned or interested." He ignored her, now engrossed in the results. Cuddy allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She'd be worried by his odder than usual behavior earlier, and was happy to see that he seemed as fine as he ever was.

"Definitely cancer," he finally said, throwing the tests to the table.

Cuddy nodded, then stood up, smoothing her suit. "Again, great use of hospital resources. I'll see you in the clinic tomorrow."

"I might take a bereavement day."

Cuddy snorted. "I'm afraid our leave policy doesn't cover rats. Ten o'clock, in the clinic. Don't make me hunt you down."

"Ooooh, but think how much fun we could have," House said with a lascivious wink. "I'll be the naughty doctor and you'll be the stern administrator who needs to discipline me."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House, we play that game every day. It's hardly exciting anymore."

"Not at all?" House murmured, crowding her near the door.

Cuddy tried to ignore the sudden hitch in her breathing and put her hand firmly on the door. "Well, maybe just a little," she offered with a small smile, then quickly made her exit.

Fully aware that what she was about to do was both irresponsible and inappropriate, Belle stealthily approached her neighbor's door. Glad the pup had fallen asleep, she carefully set down the dog carrier. Frowning at the jaunty bow tied to the handle, she wondered again if she'd gone insane. Well, she'd keep an eye on the situation. Worst case scenario, the puppy would just return to the Humane Society for adoption.

Steeling her nerves, she looked around to make sure no one was watching, then ran away as fast as she could. Feeling like a delinquent 20 years younger than she was, she couldn't help laughing as she quietly closed the door behind her.

"Grand Central Station," House muttered, not looking up from the journal he was reading. "Let yourself in," he shouted, expecting Wilson and uninterested in opening the door to anyone else.

A long silence followed his shout, and he found himself staring at the door. About to shrug it off, he suddenly heard a high-pitched yelp and found himself walking to the door, his curiosity getting the better of him. Opening the door, he stared at the pet carrier in shock. Looking suspiciously up and down his street, he expected Cameron to jump up from behind a car at any moment. When no one appeared, he gingerly picked it up and brought it inside.

Crouching on the floor, he peered into the barred door, his surprise & curiosity increasing as he saw the small, wriggling puppy, the small bag of dog food, and a couple toys. Cursing Cameron's name loudly, he felt a sharp pang of guilt when the puppy whimpered and cowered away from the door.

"Sorry, fella, it's not your fault," House said softly, opening the cage door and offering his hand for sniffing. The puppy immediately forgot his fear, and ran forward, enthusiastically licking House's hand before running out and skidding to an ungraceful stop on the carpet. House gently lifted one of his oversized paws and whistled. "You're going to be big." The pup immediately rolled over, offering his stomach & surprised a small laugh from House, who spent long minutes gently petting him.

Finally removing his hand, he stood and began looking around for his phone. The puppy followed him, cheerfully tripping over House's feet as he tried to jump up against his legs. Finding the phone, House scooped the puppy up into his lap as he sat down to call Cameron.

"Did you steal drugs from another patient?" he growled as soon as she answered.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" she asked tentatively, aiming for suprise but instead sounding guiltier than hell.

"A puppy? Have you lost your mind?"

"A puppy?" Cameron repeated, all guilt leaving her voice, replaced by honest shock.

Acknowledging the abrupt change, House stared at the pup, honestly puzzled. "Okay, so you're not responsible for this, but you're obviously guilty of something. What?"

"Nothing," Cameron insisted unconvincingly, wincing at what a miserable liar she was.

"I'll find out tomorrow," he said with an annoyed sigh and hung up on her. "So where did you come from?" The puppy was clearly a mutt, but an attractive one: short brown hair, a black muzzle and black-tipped ears. He had a labrador's floppy, silky ears, but the mournful eyes of a hound. His long tail whipped back and forth at a frantic pace as he struggled to jump up and lick House's face.

Picking up the phone again, House hit speed dial for Wilson, quickly becoming annoyed when his friend didn't answer. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked, gently scratching behind his ears. The pup gave a strong yelp, then wriggled ecstatically when a successful lunge allowed him to briefly lick House's chin.

"Well, we'll figure it out tomorrow," House said. "I need to get to bed." Holding the puppy, he headed towards the cage, then abruptly switched direction, softly cursing himself for a sentimental fool. "You piss on my bed and I'll beat you with my cane," he warned as he headed down the hall.

Driving away from Beth's apartment, Wilson found himself whistling cheerfully. Guilt-free encounters were a significant silver lining to his recent divorce. Even hearing a plaintive meow from the back seat couldn't wreck his good mood. He'd bring the kittens to House, they'd have a good laugh at Cameron's expense, then drop them off at the Humane Society.

Thrilled and surprised to find a spot directly in front of House's townhouse, Wilson frowned at the dark windows. More often than not, House seemed to be awake no matter what time Wilson dropped by. Not wanting to wake his friend if he was actually sleeping, he unlocked and opened the door quietly, carefully setting down the carrier and bags of supplies.

Only turning on one soft light near the piano, he rummaged in the bag for the litter box and hastily set it up, then carried a water bowl to the kitchen and filled it up. Deciding that was all he needed to do for the night, he let the kittens out of the carrier and showed them the litter box.

He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the couch, pulling down the warm throw blanket. Despite being exhausted, he couldn't help watch the kittens' playful antics with affectionate amusement. They really were adorable. Just as he was about to drift off, he was woken by insistent mewling. Both kittens were sitting on the floor staring up at him demandingly. With a sigh, Wilson reached down and scooped them up. "I'm only allowing this because I don't want you to wake up House," Wilson said sternly, then chuckled at their skeptical expressions. The cats curled up happily on his chest, and he finally fell asleep to their rhythmic purrs.

Belle kept glancing over at her new neighbor's house with curiosity. He certainly went to bed early, the house was already dark.

She wondered again what she'd gotten herself, and the puppy, into. She hadn't been watching when he opened the door and took in the carrier, afraid that if he spotted her he would suspect her. She had spent a few hours inside, unpacking, and while she was nowhere near done she had managed to uncover her wineglasses, and now poured herself a nice glass of pinot grigio. Pushing a few boxes out of the way, she collapsed into her recliner. The only light was from the fixture over the dining room table and she sat back, looking out the bay window onto the street.

Belle stretched and was just thinking of getting to bed herself when she saw a sensible Volvo pull up outside. It was parked right in front of her neighbor's house. She sat bolt upright when she saw a handsome dark-haired man get out of the car, with a pet carrier and a huge bag of supplies. What the…?

She stood up and walked to the window, watching all the while. The man stood outside for a moment looking up at her neighbor's house, and then took out a key and let himself in. _Who's this? _Belle asked herself. _A friend? A pet-sitter? Did that snarling monster already have another pet besides the rat? _She shook her head and couldn't believe it. She craned to get a better look at him, he seemed terribly attractive but in this light it was hard to see details. The handsome man had already disappeared inside the house.

Belle drank off the last of her wine and decided that she was done for the evening. She had to get a good night's sleep for what would be her last full day off before starting at the Princeton Humane Society. Unpacking was a big job that would simply have to continue in the evenings after her job really got underway, but she was determined to do as much as she could the next day.

She crept upstairs, fumbling a bit for the unfamiliar light switches in the dark. Finally she got to her bedroom, which had been the first place she'd done serious unpacking. Her king-size bed was all made up, and the only full drawer in her bureau had her sleep clothes in it. She pulled it out and started to reach for her old flannel sleep shirt when she noticed the filmy cream satin number just under it. She pulled that out instead.

It had been ages since she wore this to bed. _Or for anything else, really, _she thought to herself. There were occasional men in her life, but none that kept her interested, that engaged her brain and body on the same level. Her mother had always told her she was too smart, too confident to "catch a man." She in turn told her mother that if she had to act stupid and insecure to win a man, then she'd just skip the whole thing, thanks. Belle laughed a little to herself to think of it, and fingered the light satin, the lace over the deep décolleté, and decided the heck with it. She undressed down to her panties and tossed the creamy confection on the bed. Stepping into the master bath she brushed her teeth and her lovely hair, then she came out and slipped into the gorgeous satin number. She took an appreciative look at herself in the mirror, taking a few deep breaths to watch the effect of her heaving cleavage.

"I wonder if there's any chance that guy was my neighbor's roommate, and if he might stop by some morning to borrow a cup of sugar," she grinned. She slipped into bed and put out the light, and was soon asleep after her long moving day.

In the middle of the night, House heard a strange noise and raised himself on his elbows. The puppy, whom he was already thinking of as Maurice, was still curled up at the foot of the bed. When House sat up, the puppy looked up too.

"Did you hear something, little Mo?" he said sleepily. Then he heard it again, a distinct BONK noise from the living room. House muttered under his breath and swung his legs out of bed. Mo, excited, jumped off the bed and gave a single bark. The noises in the other room stopped, then started up again after a moment's pause.

House grabbed his cane from the foot of the bed but held it like a baseball bat as he quietly limped to the door. He put his ear to the door for a moment. Mo stood at the ready at his feet. He eased the door open, and Mo, thinking it was time for a walk, shot out the door and down the hallway. The original noises stopped and Mo gave a surprised bark. Then House heard a strange squeaking or mewing sound.

_MEWING sound? _thought House, _what the hell…? _ He continued to walk slowly down the hall, still holding the cane over his shoulder, ready to bash in the head of any intruders, mewing or otherwise. As he drew closer to the living room, he heard scuffling and snuffling noises. Then he heard what was distinctly a human footstep. He raised the cane higher, preparing to turn the corner.

Suddenly a figure appeared in the hallway and House started to swing with the cane when he heard a familiar voice say, "House!" House reached out to flip on the light switch and there stood Wilson, in stocking feet.

"House, what is this dog doing here!" Wilson nearly shouted. Mo was sniffing around Wilson's ankles.

"You break into my house and wake me up and demand to know about MY dog?" House groused.

"_Your _dog?" Wilson was incredulous. "Since when do you have a…"

"What is THAT?" House cut him off. He was still staring at Wilson's feet, where a small kitten was now romping right next to Mo, jumping on Wilson's toes. It was a gray tabby and seemed quite bold and fearless around the dog.

"Well," said Wilson, glancing down at his own feet, where he spotted the kitten playing, "that's a kitten, House. You see, when cats are first born, they're actually quite small, and…"

"I KNOW IT'S A KITTEN!" exclaimed House. "What is it doing in my _home?_"

"Apparently, playing with the dog I didn't know you had. This little guy's sister is around here somewhere…"

"TWO kittens? What possessed you to break into my home with two kittens?" House gesticulated with his cane and nearly dislodged a picture hanging on the wall.

"One, I didn't break into your house, I used a key," Wilson ticked off on his fingers, "Two, Cameron's the one who supplied the kittens, not me. She dumped them on me when she decided that your having a pet rat somehow signaled a level of humanity that she had not yet plumbed. Three," Wilson grinned, "did you realize how much women dig men with pets?"

House raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Used the kittens for nefarious purposes, eh? Poor things. And I should have known Cameron would have been behind this. She sounded guilty about _something_ when I called."

"Why were you calling Cameron?"

"Because I was sure it was her who left the dog on my doorstep!"

"So that's where it came from."

House nodded and continued past Wilson towards the kitchen. If he was awake, he might as well get a snack. Mo traipsed after him with the kitten on his tail. House noted that a small calico kitten was licking its paws daintily on the blanket Wilson had clearly been sleeping under.

"Want anything?" House asked with his head in the fridge.

"I'll just get a water," Wilson answered, grabbing a glass and taking it to the sink.

"Help yourself," House muttered, coming up with a plate of leftovers and a can of soda. He set these on the counter and looked down at the kitten playing with the heat register on the floor. He paused, then brought out a jug of milk. He poured some on a saucer and set it down for the kitten.

"Oh, Beth says cats this age can be lactose intolerant, so you might want to watch their milk intake," Wilson noted, as the calico wandered into the kitchen and ran over to join her brother at the dish.

"Beth?" House said in a mocking tone.

"I tell you, I had no idea how much I could work the pet angle before now," Wilson grinned.

"Why don't _you _keep the damn kittens?"

"How about I swap you the kittens for the puppy? You can take a puppy for walks, show him off easier than kittens."

"Oh you dog," grinned House. He made his way over to the couch and sat to watch Mo playing with the edge of the blanket.

"That's me," Wilson sat back on the other end of the couch. "So. Where do you think the dog came from, really? I can personally vouch that the only pets Cameron procured for you are Pip and Loony."

"You already named them?" House asked.

"What are you calling the dog, House?"

"Mo," House muttered. Wilson nodded, satisfied. "At any rate," House continued, "I guess tomorrow I'll ask the new neighbor if she saw anything. She must have been home with the moving van most of the day."

"New neighbor, eh?" Wilson asked.

"Yep. Ought to keep her away from you, it's safe money she'd give your 'Beth' a run for her money."

"Nice-looking?" Wilson asked.

"With an ass that won't quit," noted House.

"Maybe in the morning," Wilson said, leaning back, "_I'll _go ask her if she saw anything."

Cuddy didn't know if House would show up the next morning, and she certainly didn't think he'd be on time. Her shock was huge, therefore, when she saw him on his way into the clinic at 9:45. The shock came with a little thrill of delight when she saw that he was wearing the leather jacket today.

"Dr. House!" she called as she came out of her office toward the clinic doors, on a path to intercept him. He paused to wait for her. What the…?

"Dr. Cuddy," House said with a smile.

"Are you feeling all right?" Cuddy asked.

"I might be…unless of course you want to take my temperature," House leaned into her a little with brows raised.

"Dr. House!"

"DOCTOR Cuddy, I'm sure you can see that I'm on my way to clinic hours," House said in a mock-sweet voice. His eyes slipped down to the pleasing view her caramel-colored blouse afforded. "You wouldn't want me to miss any of my time, would you? Because if you need me for a private consultation, I'm sure I can leave this parade of the walking mouth-breathers behind for a few minutes."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I just thought I was seeing things, House. You're here early."

"Yeah," House said as he pushed his way through the clinic doors, "the damn dog woke me up." He walked in and spoke to the nurse at the desk, taking a file from her.

Cuddy stood and stared. "The dog?"

Cameron was dreading seeing House. The team wasn't expecting him until noon, after his office hours. They didn't have an active patient, as the one Foreman had tried to bring in the previous afternoon had decided to go to another hospital when her case got bumped away from House's team. Cuddy had hand-delivered the rat's test results to House and the ducklings weren't expecting to have to deal with _that _"case" anymore either.

Did Wilson already take him the kittens? And what was this about a puppy? Would House think she was behind them both? And who on earth gave him a puppy? That would surely be too much work for House. But what if he liked the puppy better than the kittens? What if he decided to just give them away? What if he…

"Good morning, brain trust," said House as he walked in the door.

Foreman and Chase exchanged a look. House sounded…cheery.

"Good…morning, um," Cameron started.

"Cameron, you're on eraser-clapping duty."

"I just wanted to…"

"I'm serious. These things are filthy. Just smear the markers around. Please clean them." House set down his briefcase on the table. He gave her a look, and she jumped up to go clean them out.

House looked at Foreman and Chase once Cameron was gone. "Did either of you know anything about the kittens?" he demanded.

"Kittens?" said Foreman.

"They're quite small cats," noted Chase.

"Really!" House gasped in a pretend-shocked tone. "I was certain they were a new type of fungus! No, I said _the _kittens, specifically the ones Cameron hoodwinked Wilson into bringing to my house."

"Is this some sort of follow-up on the rat thing?" Foreman asked.

"Cameron brought you _kittens?_" asked Chase. "As what, a snack?"

"You'd have to ask her," House said. "Now, however, you can research low-cost spay and neuter programs for me."

Chase looked blank.

"Go on," House nodded, "at least I didn't make you clean the erasers."

Wilson had woken that morning early, along with House, when Mo started barking like crazy. They barely got him out back in time, but at least he didn't mess in the house. He made a point of showing House where all Pip and Loony's supplies were, noting that House seemed in a better mood than Wilson had seen him in for months. House seemed especially pleased with the fancy automatic litter box that Wilson had procured for the kittens.

In fact he was in such a good mood that he went to work early, saying he was going to try to leave early to get back to let Mo out mid-afternoon. Wilson knew his schedule was clear until afternoon and no one had paged him overnight, so he decided to hang out at House's for a little while. Julie had taken the house in the divorce, and Wilson's bachelor pad was small and had a very inadequate television compared to House's place.

When Dr. Phil came on Wilson stretched and got up. He ought to head back to his place to shower and change. He snapped off the TV and let himself out, after stopping to pet the kittens and puppy goodbye. As he walked out to his Volvo he glanced over at the next-door neighbor's place. He saw movement through the big bay window and remembered House's description. Grinning to himself, he figured it couldn't hurt to ask if she had seen anything. The puppy was quite a mystery, after all.

Wilson walked over to the front door and rang the bell. Inside, Belle was shocked. She had slept late and was just making coffee. Who could be at the door? Weren't most people at work by now? It was nearly 11 a.m. _Oh man, _she thought as she walked to the door, _I hope it's not the Jehovah's Witnesses already._

Belle realized too late that she was still wearing her lacy satin number from the night before. She pulled the door open a few inches and peered out.

"Hello, I'm James Wilson, a friend of Greg House," said the drop-dead gorgeous man at her front door. This was the dark-haired stranger she'd seen the night before! Up close, he was even better. The deep pools of his dark brown eyes made her feel a little weak.

"Who?" she said. _NICE, Belle, _she thought, _way to turn on the charm! "Who?" Duh!_

"Of course he didn't introduce himself. It really is highly likely he was raised by wolves. Gimp wolves. Greg House is your neighbor," Wilson went on, "surly fellow, motorcycle, pronounced limp?" He craned his neck a little, unable to see much of this woman House had spoken so highly of. How could he verify she had an ass that wouldn't quit if he couldn't see it?

"Yes, him I remember. And I suppose the gimp-wolves angle does explain why he didn't introduce himself." She smiled warmly and opened the door a little wider, allowing Wilson a glimpse of legs and the curve of her breast taut against the clinging satin. The view was excellent.

"I'm sorry, he didn't get your name either, Ms…?" Wilson put on his most charming smile.

"Dr. Belle Raffenbraun," Belle said, putting a hand out, which Wilson shook eagerly.

"Doctor?" he asked. "I'm in oncology myself, may I ask what your specialty is?"

"Oh," she laughed a little, and her laugh was like the soft chime of a delicate silver bell, "a little bit of everything. Actually I'm a veterinarian."

"A vet, really?" Wilson's eyes lit up, and Belle nearly gasped. She suddenly remembered the view she was giving this handsome doctor and flushed a little bit.

"Yes, I came here to head up Princeton's Humane Society."

"You might be able to help Greg out then," Wilson noted, stepping a little closer to the front door. God, she had a mole on her left breast, just above the lace. He felt like he could watch it move with her breathing all day. "He's recently come into some unexpected pets. Actually," Wilson refocused, "I wanted to ask if you saw anything unusual yesterday. Someone dropped a puppy off on Greg's porch and apparently just ran away. You wouldn't have seen a kid around, maybe it was some kind of practical joke?"

Belle was glad she was already a little flushed so that James couldn't see her new blush. "No," she said, in a remarkably normal-sounding voice. She was sure something would give her away, though. "I'm afraid I was pretty focused on unpacking yesterday, I didn't notice anything on the porch next door." Did that sound plausible? Did her voice quiver? She was afraid she was going to burst out laughing and give away the whole thing.

Wilson nodded in an understanding way. "That makes sense," he said. "Well, thanks anyway. I guess it's possible that you might see him show up with a spare pet or three at that society of yours. Greg House," he noted knowingly, "is not exactly what you'd call a pet person."

"He said yesterday his rat had just died!"

"Oh, he mentioned that, did he?" Wilson smiled. "That was a bit of an accidental adoption. Plus at least rats stay in cages."

Belle nodded. She wondered how the poor dog was doing. She smiled at her neighbor's lovely friend, and said, "Well, rats do make fine pets also. But I'll be happy to help if your friend needs to relocate an animal, or if he has any questions."

Wilson nodded too, and then reached into his pocket. "Thanks again," he said, and then handed her his business card. "Look, I'm sorry if Greg was rotten to you yesterday. He's like that to everyone. But you're new to town and deserve something a little more welcoming. I'd love to show you around a little."

Belle accepted the card and her violet eyes sparkled. "That's downright neighborly of you," she said in a husky tone, "and you're not even my neighbor." She hoped she sounded cool and sexy, in her own head she was nervously trying to remember where her own business cards were. In a fit of sudden inspiration, she said, "Dr. Wilson, may I borrow a pen?"

Wilson had plenty, and pulled one out of a jacket pocket. He handed it to her and was surprised and excited when she took it and then grabbed his hand. "My cards aren't handy," she gave him a sly glance, "but here's my number." She wrote it on his palm, feeling seventeen and giddy and ridiculous.

"Thank you," Wilson said slowly, accepting his hand and his pen. He felt like he was in high school. It was impossible in his line of work, but he never wanted to wash his hand again.

Belle smiled in what she hoped was a coquettish manner, and shut the door gently. Wilson stepped down from her front porch, his mind happily drifting. He hadn't been able to verify her "ass that wouldn't quit," but overall the encounter had been satisfying nonetheless.

Belle sighed and slumped against the door as he walked away. She was deliriously happy as she clutched his card, until it dawned on her: she had written down her old Wisconsin number. She didn't even have her new one memorized yet.

"DAMMIT!" she yelled as she heard his Volvo take off down the block.


	3. Chapter 3

Hearing the knock at her door, Cuddy sighed. As painful as getting through this report was, she'd never manage it if people kept interrupting her. Remembering House's earlier clinic hours and strange mood, she braced herself when she saw it was Brenda.

"What can I do for you?"

"It's House," Brenda said with a scowl. "He yelled at another patient this morning. She and her husband are back and want to talk to you and file a formal complaint."

Cuddy nodded wearily, but felt an odd sense of relief. House's cheerful attitude and early arrival at the clinic this morning had frankly scared her. As annoying as dealing with this situation would be, at least she didn't need to worry that House had been replaced by a pod person or was introducing another drug to his addiction.

"Do you know what happened?"

Brenda shook her head regretfully. "We all heard the shouting, and there was something about personal responsibility and animals not being old-school iPods. We don't even try to make sense of him anymore."

Animals? Cuddy rubbed her forehead, remembering House's bizarre comment about a dog waking him up. What on earth was going on? Maybe her relief was premature. "Send them in, I'll deal with it." Brenda gave her a sympathetic smile and walked out to send the couple in.

Sitting at her kitchen table, Belle sipped her coffee forlornly and wondered if it was too early in the day to spike it with some Jamesons. She was _such _an idiot. Why couldn't she ever manage to be suave or, hell, at least composed in front of handsome men? Instead it took about a nanosecond for her to regress into the awkward, tongue-tied teenager she'd once been. She might as well still have coke-bottle glasses, braces and the bad 80s-style haircut that she'd struggled for years to psychologically repress.

She picked up his business card again and stared intently at it. "It's not a magical talisman, Belle," she muttered to herself, "and you are going to have to call him." She forced herself to glance at the phone and cringed. As ridiculous as she knew it was, as much as she'd struggled for years to overcome it, she hated to make the first call. Belle much preferred the certainty that the man was pursuing her, that any intial contact wasn't just a fleeting, easily forgotten whim. "I don't even deserve to live in this century."

He had just stopped by. Surely she couldn't call him quite yet. What was today, Wednesday? Hrm. If she wanted to see him this weekend, she should call soon. But would that seem desperate? Maybe. Maybe it would be smarter to wait until next week, act like she was busy…

_He knows you just moved here and hardly know anyone yet_, she thought to herself, polishing off the coffee. _Don't push it. It was totally out of the blue and went great. He wouldn't have given you his number if he hadn't wanted you to have it. Now, stop mooning and get to unpacking!_

Belle got up and rinsed out her cup. She glanced out the window in the direction of her surly next-door neighbor's house. She hoped all was well and that she hadn't made a gigantic mistake. James had said he wasn't a pet person. Still, there had been something in his eyes when he mentioned his dead pet rat…well, time would tell. And if she just happened to see Dr. James Wilson's car over there again, she could conveniently walk out to check the mail…or go for a walk, or …something.

Foreman walked up to the office from his own clinic hours, and smiled at Cameron as he walked in.

"Where's Chase?" he said, taking off his coat.

"Haven't seen him yet today, I thought he was doing clinic hours," Cameron said, smiling and looking up from the magazine she was reading. It was another slow day at the Diagnostic Department.

"Nope," said Foreman, strolling over to pour himself a cup of coffee, "House was down there earlier, got some couple royally pissed at him as per usual, but I didn't see Chase."

"Uhoh, what'd House do this time?"

"No one seems to know," Foreman stirred sugar into his coffee and moved to sit down. "They just stormed out in a huff and Brenda had to run damage control again. I think they're in talking to Cuddy. You mean House hasn't come back up here yet?"

"No sign of him," said Cameron. "I'm starting to wonder, between the dead rat the other day and him leaving early. Do you think he's overmedicating or something? Adding something else to the mix?"

Foreman's brow creased in thought for a moment. "I really don't think so," he said slowly. "For House, an erratic state is essentially normal. Frankly," he smiled, "I think that losing his pet might have affected him more than he's ever going to let on."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not? He lives alone. He doesn't have any friends other than Wilson, and admittedly Wilson has lots of time to hang out now that he's divorced, but there's still a lot of hours in the day to fill. I don't know exactly why or what motivated him to get that rat, but something must have. And now that the rat's gone, he's probably realizing just how nice it was to have a companion around like that." Foreman looked satisfied with his own explanation.

"I hope you're right," Cameron said with a worried look in her eye.

Foreman noticed the worry. "What's up?"

Cameron bit her lip and looked at Foreman. She hadn't seen Wilson yet that morning to ask how it went, and she wasn't sure she should say a thing about the kittens until she knew for sure that House didn't take them to the pound or drown them or something. Still, Foreman's theory seemed to get at the heart of her own worries about House, so she told him the whole story.

While they were engrossed in the tale, and speculation about what on earth House would do with two kittens, they didn't notice Chase walk up to the office door with two young women. When he walked in, they looked up.

"Morning, Chase," said Cameron.

"Are we going to do some training today since we don't have an active case?" asked Foreman, thinking that medical students looked younger every year.

Chase grinned. "I don't think so," he said, "unless they dropped the admissions age for med school a lot since I was there. No, these two young ladies are here to see House. Dr. Foreman, Dr. Cameron, let me introduce Melanie and Maggie Cross."

Foreman and Cameron stood up and shook hands, shooting Chase puzzled looks.

"They are looking for Dr. House," Chase said, looking like a cat who'd scored a whole packet of people tuna.

"Is there something we can help you with while you're waiting?" asked Cameron, taking an instant liking to the nervous-looking young women. They were both of medium height and build, one with short brown hair and the other with long curly reddish-brown locks. They both had piercing blue eyes that seemed familiar, somehow. They were clearly twins, and no more than seventeen years old.

Melanie spoke up first, "Oh, no thank you. It's not really anything you can help with." She ran her fingers through her short hair nervously.

Maggie seemed the more relaxed of the two, and she took a seat when Chase offered. "We have business with him, personal business," she noted. Chase's grin got wider.

Cameron nodded, more puzzled than ever. Foreman glanced surreptitiously at his watch and said, "Hey Chase, I'm going to head down to the cafeteria for an early lunch. Want to come along?"

Chase saw his opportunity. He was clearly bursting with some sort of news. "Sure, good idea. Can we pick anything up for you ladies?" he asked the room.

Cameron could tell something was up, but she knew she should stay in the office with the girls until House returned from wherever he'd gone. She nodded and said, "Could you bring up some fresh croissants, and a few of those green tea bags they sell down there? Melanie, Maggie, would you like anything?"

The girls looked at each other and Maggie, clearly the bolder one, said "Sure, a couple of Cokes?" They were reaching for their wallets but Cameron waved them off, handing some of her money over to Foreman for the food.

Foreman said, "Okay, we'll be right back," and he and Chase took off. As soon as they were out of sight of the office Foreman said, "Chase, what is up? You look like the cat that got the cream."

Chase grinned even wider and said, lowly, "You know who those girls are?"

"We've established they're not students…come on Chase, quit playing. You know I have no idea who they are."

"They are – or at least they say they are – House's daughters." Chase looked pleased with himself.

Foreman stopped dead in his tracks. "They're WHAT?"


End file.
